Reason to Live
by Suffering Angel
Summary: Trowa's playing a dangerous game. will love be enough to save him? angst, suicidal theme


I don't own GW.

A/N: angst! w00t!

**_Reason to Live_**

**__**

I open the drawer and there it is, waiting for me. Like it has every night since I put it there. Since I started this insane game. Since I started putting my life on the line by my own hands. Hey, it's fun. Sue me.

I remember when I started with this insane thing, but god help me if I remember why. I just felt like I had to do it. Pull the trigger. At myself. So I did. I left notes by my bedside. For everyone that mattered. Not that I had many. One for Catherine. The other…

It felt good, aim the gun at my own head. So I did so. I don't think I ever thought of anything at that time. Just aimed the gun, and ultimately pulled the trigger.

Click.

No bullet.

The gun dropped to the floor and I felt my heart race a mile a minute. The rush was amazing. Mind bugling, even. I found out… I wanted more. I _needed_ more.

So I had more. It became a game. 

Spin the bullets.

Aim at head.

Pull trigger.

Spin the bullets.

Aim at head.

Pull trigger.

I think it turned me into an adrenalin addict.

Then one night, my game changed. 

Looking back, I should've seen it. See it was all wrong. There was this feel in the room, like someone was there. And there was; I knew I was being watched. For the life of me, I don't know why I didn't trust my instincts. The gun was too light. Even though I only kept one bullet… it was too light. And the note by my bedside. Note. One. The other was missing. The one left was the one for Catherine.

Then I pressed the trigger. No spin. Five days in a row I stayed alive, no spinning. That day was the day I'd actually shoot myself. If I was to die, so be it. If I were to somehow live, god bless. But the odds of that are…

I'll miss you, Catherine.

So no spin. I took aim and… pulled the trigger.

Click.

No bullet.

Then I heard the clapping.

"Bravo. Is there an encore?"

His voice was cold. Something I never really heard in his voice. You see, he's the nicest guy I know.

Hell must've frozen over again. The last time it did, I almost died by the same hands that must've now saved me.

"Got your note."

So he's been going through my stuff. Figures. He always had a way of knowing me. Sometimes I wonder just how much he really knows about me.

"Don't do it."

I asked him why. He laughed bitterly, and it tore my heart, hearing my angel laugh like that. Then he told me why.

"Because I love you."

Blink.

Stare.

Needless to say, that's when I had to change my game.

Not by a while lot, mind you. Just by a little. You might say I had a greater chance of living.

That night, he told me he loved me. That if I needed him to be my reason for staying alive, he would be. And I realized, even back when I wrote my note to him, that I love him too. So I accepted.

But the game stayed.

And luckily, so did he.

Sometimes I hate myself so much for what I put him through. To know that every night, there's a 1:5 chance I'll kill myself. To know that every night, that 1 might just beat the other 5. To know that he's the only one I'll put the gun away for.

That's the other part of the game now. I hate myself even more for what it meant. You see, between me and myself, everyone else and I excluded, I kind of made a bet. How long will it take for him to grow tired of this game. Grow tired of me. He's too good for me, I tell him time and again. He just kisses me and tells me to be quiet.

Tonight, however…

Earlier tonight we had a fight. I don't remember even how it started. I just know it's half past midnight and that the bed's so cold without him.

And I can't help but wonder if he remembers my game. 

And then I wonder if he'll be back in time. Time to stop me.

Then I wonder if he still cares enough to do so.

And then I wonder if he still loves me.

So I put in more bullets. Now it's 5:1.

Life and Death.

Spin the bullets.

Love and Hate.

Aim the gun.

Are they really that different?

I hesitate. Pull the trigger?

Please come. I suddenly don't want to die anymore.

5:1. Am I feeling lucky?

I love you, Quatre.

So I pull the trigger…

A/N: hm… should I write a sequel? Hm…


End file.
